


when the sun sets (and things change)

by orphan_account



Category: Food Fantasy (Video Game)
Genre: Angst, Gay, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Panic Attacks, bby’s been through sm shit ok, pastel is such a good boyfriend...., someone hug napoleon, they love eachother
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-13
Updated: 2018-11-13
Packaged: 2019-08-22 23:13:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,074
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16607231
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: Some days are worse than others. Sometimes, on those days, your best is all you can do.The silver lining?You don’t have to do it alone.(aka. everyone has a bad day, but things get better. napoleon and pastel are in love. obviously.)





	when the sun sets (and things change)

The day had gone on for far too long.

For everyone. By the time the sun sank below the horizon most souls were already throwing in the towel, even if there was still work to be done. And Pastel understood that without a doubt. The day had been rough on him, too. It had started when their Master Attendant found that rats had gotten into the storage pantry- almost all their food supplies had been tampered with and subsequently labeled ‘contaminated’, so in a last-ditch effort to restock ingredients before the first of the week a supply team was thrown together and sent out. And of course, with his terrific luck, Pastel just so happened to be one of those assigned to the supply team. As well as Napoleon, funnily enough, along with Milk, Steak, and Black Tea as extra help.

The five of them were running all over Tierra to scrape together replacements for all the ingredients they’d lost, and after gathering enough to keep the restaurant afloat for a few more days they were attacked. An Aizen- a powerful one too, that just so happened to catch them all off their guard. It was a long-fought battle; by the end they’d all been scraped up, but there wasn’t any time to sit by and lick their wounds. Not yet. Pastel was sure he’d broken a few ribs from a hefty hit to his midsection, plus other numerous bruises and gashes. Steak had gotten the worst of it, however- a broken arm and nose, from what Milk had time to assess before they were back on the bike and speeding toward Gloriville. Toward home, where they could finally rest and recover for a bit.

It took a few hours, the sun drooping low in the sky by the time they made it back. Pastel helped Napoleon unload the ingredients and tried not to pay too much attention to how… well, how _quiet_ Napoleon had become since the attack. He tried to write it off as exhaustion- hell, it had been a long day, but even when Napoleon was tired he’d at least make an effort to say something, even if it was just more pointless complaining about his sugar deficiency. After the Aizen? Napoleon had been completely silent, save for the few small reassurances he’d murmured to Milk when she came over to assess his wounds.

Frankly? It scared Pastel. But he was already non-confrontational under normal circumstances, and after the beating he’d taken- they’d _all_ taken- back in the Light Kingdom, he didn’t have the energy to ask. So he didn’t.

The other souls left behind had finished closing up the restaurant by the time the three of them toted in all the crates (Milk had ushered Steak inside as soon as they’d arrived, insisting his injuries had to be taken care of first). From what he’d heard from the grumbling staff, the day had been just as tough for the rest of them back at home base, with everything from violent customers to the painful aftermath of their severe lack of supplies. Omurice had been complaining loudly about missing silverware when Pastel found the time to start patching himself up, and everything just got worse once Hawthorne Ball discovered they were missing _four whole sets_ of dinner silverware. One of their customers had seemingly snuck out with the utensils in all the chaos of the day Pudding concluded, to absolutely no one’s satisfaction.

In short? It had been a pretty damn terrible day.

It wasn't until late that Pastel was finally cleared to go back to his room, having been cornered by Milk and Tiramisu while he had attempted to sneak his way up the stairs about an hour earlier. Begrudgingly he'd let them both fix him up, the two of them bandaging his broken ribs and cleaning his cuts and bruises with expertise. While they worked he couldn't help but let his thoughts drift to his eccentric companion- Napoleon had completely disappeared once they'd brought in all the crates from the bike, hopefully to go clean himself up and get some well-deserved rest. Pastel hadn’t thought to go check on him due to the mass chaos when they’d arrived, and by now he was probably asleep….

Maybe it was alright if he left Napoleon alone. He needed the sleep. And who was Pastel to wake him? Actually, who was he anyway to assume it was his job to take care of the brunet after all? Napoleon was a grown man. He would be alright. Wouldn't he?

 _Wouldn't_ he?

Despite his own exhaustion Pastel found himself hesitating in front of Napoleon’s door, exhaling a quiet breath in the dark hallway and slumping against the wall. His ribs hurt, his body ached, his head throbbed. Every part of him was begging for a chance to rest, for just a little peace- and yet he was here, frozen, staring at the glittery red letters Napoleon had painted on the day he’d been contracted by their Master Attendant. _‘Napoleon Cake’s Room,’_ it read in exaggerated cursive, with exactly three exclamation marks and a heart. Pastel sighed. He needed to get to bed.

And that’s when he heard the noise.

He almost missed it, actually. He’d just begun limping his way back down the hallway when a sort of muffled… well, a muffled _something_ caught his attention. Pastel blinked a few times, going still. He had to be imagining things. It was so late, and he was so tired…

 _There!_ There it was again!

Louder, clearer this time- Pastel turned his head, brow furrowed in the dim light of the hall. What _was_ that? It was coming from behind him….. It couldn’t possibly be music; even if had been the middle of the day the noise didn’t seem to have any type of tune to it. He couldn’t make out any words, either. Some part of him felt uncomfortable, like deep down he knew something was very, _very_ wrong. His mind was reacting so sluggishly, eyes scanning the hallway for any sort of threat even though he knew he was the only one up so late at night.

Wait. Wait a minute. There it was again. Close. _Too_ close-

 _Napoleon_.

Something clicked in Pastel’s brain, eyes widening once the realization dawned on him. Napoleon. He’d been off ever since the fight- something must be wrong-

He didn’t bother knocking on the door, instead grabbing the handle and twisting until the door clicked open. His mind was racing- could he be seriously hurt? Or having a nightmare? He knew Napoleon’s night terrors still stuck around, even after all these years-

“N-Nata?”

Pastel froze in the doorway, blinking a few times to help his eyes adjust to the darkness. It took him a second to spot the lump on the bed, dread creeping into his gut once his vision cleared and he got a true handle on the situation.

He closed the door behind him.

“Napoleon?”

He murmured softly, taking a hesitant step forward. The brunet’s eyes were hazy with tears and exhaustion, head turned toward the door, barely visible in the light of the moon. Covers were thrown this way and that, Napoleon’s hair mussed even beyond its normal appearance. But what hurt the most was the expression on his face- pure unadulterated _terror_ , entire body trembling visibly even beneath the lone blanket that had managed to stay on the bed. _A night terror then_ , Pastel thought to himself. His stomach churned. No good. Not at all. It seemed to get worse once Napoleon realized he’d been loud enough to catch Pastel’s attention, shaky hands moving to rub at his eyes frantically in a futile effort to keep the tears from flowing. It wasn’t working.

“I didn’t- I didn’t mean- I’m sorry- I was too- too loud-“

Napoleon’s voice trembled, the tearful rasp barely a whisper in the quiet of the room. Pastel instinctively shook his head, stepping forward without thinking, arms outstretched. He knew Napoleon had suffered from terrors when they’d first met, but it had been so long… now things were different. Their relationship had grown, things had changed…

He didn’t know what to do to help.

“No- Napoleon,”

He said quickly, keeping his voice down, worried that one wrong step would send Napoleon spiraling. Would it? He’d never dealt with things like this directly. He wasn’t exactly the type to come to for these things, but this was Napoleon. He couldn’t just sit here. He couldn’t just watch Napoleon break into pieces in front of him. He had to try to do something.

“You didn’t wake me. I was up already. It’s alright,”

He tried his best to comfort, moving to kneel beside the bed. He didn’t want to get too close. In truth, Pastel had no idea what he was doing. He just didn’t want to make things worse. Napoleon just sniffled, the hands tucked over his face trembling visibly even in the minimal light of the room. Pastel chewed at his bottom lip, trying to keep his breathing slow and even. He read somewhere that staying calm in the midst of difficulties helped to better react to them…. and while that didn’t directly apply to this exact situation, it was something.

“Is there anything I can do for you? To help?”

After a moment of stifling quiet Pastel forced himself to speak, watching intently for any reaction from Napoleon. Nothing. No acknowledgement whatsoever, besides the persistent full-body shaking. Pastel’s heart hurt. He felt useless.

“Do you want me to leave?”

He whispered after another few seconds of silence, fully prepared to leave despite himself- then Napoleon moved, head quickly shaking a distinct _no_. Pastel let out a breath, some of the pressure on his chest lifting. Okay. Maybe he could do something here. Maybe he could help, in some way.

Pastel kept with the yes-no answer questions, recognizing that Napoleon wasn’t in the right headspace to speak. That was alright. As long as he could help. He wouldn’t dare push Napoleon past his capacity, especially when he was so deep into such a foul mental state.

“Do you want me to get you some tea?”

A head shake. _No._

“What about some more blankets?”

A moment’s pause. A hesitant nod. _Yes._

“A glass of water?”

Another nod. Okay. They were getting somewhere.

“Okay. I’ll be right back. Take a few deep breaths, Napoleon, I promise I’ll only be a moment,”

He said softly, slowly leaning forward to press a soft kiss to the top of Napoleon’s hair. No reaction. Pastel felt his heart clench.

He hurried himself along, retrieving everything he needed within five minutes. At least three more blankets- one of them electric- plus a glass of water, and even a small bag of chocolate candies. His mind was racing, trying to think, trying to figure out what needed to be done. Maybe consult Brownie? He knew B-52 struggled with some of the same things, maybe he would have some tips…. no, no- it was too late at night. He wouldn’t want to wake him. Or draw too much attention to himself and Napoleon…… Rumors traveled fast in the restaurant, he knew that well enough, and even if Brownie wasn’t the gossiping type, someone would figure something out sooner or later.

Pastel was back at Napoleon’s door as soon as he’d collected everything, knocking twice gently before clicking open the door and reentering. Napoleon hadn’t moved. Somehow, that made him feel worse.

“Here, Napoleon,”

He whispered, perching himself on the edge of the bed and setting the blankets down. He gripped the glass of water in one hand, the other slowly resting on Napoleon’s back. He rubbed small circles there, gentle like he’d break if Pastel pressed too hard.

Maybe he would.

Somehow he managed to coax Napoleon into a sitting position, his arm curling around the brunet’s waist as he slumped against Pastel’s side, lifeless. Another twinge in his heart. He hated seeing Napoleon like this. He _hated_ it.

“The water’s good for you. Just drink a little, it’ll help.”

Pastel whispered, lifting the glass to Napoleon’s lips. He took a few sips, gently pulling away once he’d had his fill. Pastel set the glass aside, keeping his arm wrapped around Napoleon’s small form. He wasn’t moving. Pastel couldn’t determine if that was good or not.

“I brought a few more blankets. I found an electric one. Do you want me to plug it in?”

A nod.

“Okay.”

It was silent for another moment. Napoleon didn’t move. Pastel just kept his arm around him, quiet, listening to the soft hiccuping breaths of his companion. They stayed that way for a few minutes, quiet, wrapped in the moonlight seeping through the lace curtains.

Pastel plugged the electric blanket in once Napoleon found the energy to lay back down, this time curled on his side, facing away from Pastel. In moments the blanket was a comfortable warm temperature, and he didn’t hesitate to help tuck Napoleon beneath it. While Napoleon curled into the blanket Pastel couldn’t help but nervously tidy up the room, even if all that meant was just fixing the sheets and straightening some knick-knacks on the desk. Napoleon was actually a rather tidy individual, despite his contrasting personality.

Once he’d finished he just stood by the side of the bed, unsure what to do. Napoleon hadn’t wanted him to leave, but Pastel wasn’t about to crawl into bed beside him if Napoleon didn’t feel comfortable with it. Of course they’d shared a bed before on numerous occasions, but this was different. He felt a twinge in his ribs, shoulders beginning to droop- it had to have been at least half an hour since Tiramisu and Milk had released him, and he’d been instructed to go to bed immediately and get some rest. The adrenaline from finding Napoleon in such a state was wearing off…

“Stay.”

Pastel almost missed the whisper, lost in his head as his exhaustion nagged at the back of his mind. He quickly blinked himself out of it and stepped closer, eyes widening just a smidge when he noticed that Napoleon had turned to face him during his mental absence. He didn’t look so upset anymore.

Just…. tired _._

Pastel released a soft breath, closing his eyes for a moment and sitting on the edge of the bed. Tired. They were both just worn out. Granted, in different capacities, but worn out nonetheless.

“Do you want me to sleep here? With you?”

An immediate nod. Pastel didn’t hesitate for a second.

He tugged off his house shoes, shucking his shirt aside and feeling some…. unnamed emotion bubble up inside of him. Despite the countless times he’d undressed in front of Napoleon, the brunet never failed to tease him when he removed clothing in any capacity. But not tonight.

He didn’t think too hard on it. No point. The only thing that could help either of them right now was a good night’s rest and some semblance of peace.

Pastel slipped beneath the blankets on the bed, some of the tension in his shoulders releasing due to the weight and warmth of the heated blanket. He rolled onto his side, facing Napoleon’s back, unsure what to do next . He didn’t have to think on it for long- within moments of settling in his companion had turned around in the bed, instantly latching onto Pastel’s chest and pressing his head against the spot over his heart.

Pastel’s arms were moving to cup Napoleon’s small body against him before he even realized, one hand burying itself in the food soul’s soft brown hair and the other resting against the small of his back. They lay there in silence, quiet, their steady breathing the only sound perceptible to the human ear. Napoleon wasn’t crying anymore. Pastel must’ve done something right.

He hoped so. He really, really did.

“Do you remember,” Pastel whispered into the silence, “That time when you bet pastries on a- a wrestling match between Hamburger and Bamboo Rice?” He felt Napoleon shift against him. He hoped that was a good sign.

“You ended up winning…. I remember the look on your face when you saw Bamboo pin Hamburger to the floor,” He said softly, closing his eyes and feeling a small smile grow on his face. He really did remember. He remembered how Napoleon’s eyes lit up, how he laughed and smiled and cheered, how he turned back to face Pastel and giggled out the words _‘I told you so.’_

“And I remember you turned back, you- you looked back and you said to me-“

“I told you so,”

Napoleon whispered, the words soft in the quiet of the room. Pastel went quiet, listening, feeling his heart warm a bit at his partner’s words.

“I should’ve listened to you,”

Pastel murmured, the smile on his face lingering. Napoleon shifted again, tucking his head right beneath Pastel’s chin. Soft lips pressed against his collarbone and stayed there, arms wrapped tight around his chest. Pastel stayed silent, his one hand combing through Napoleon’s messy brown locks. This was good. Good for the both of them.

It was quiet for a long time after that. Pastel was convinced Napoleon had drifted off, his breathing evening out as the night kept ticking on. He didn’t stop his motions, fingers continuing to draw little soothing circles on Napoleon’s back even after he presumed the brunet to be asleep. His exhaustion only grew, nagging at his mind, a numbing weight making his shoulders slump…. and yet he couldn’t sleep, not until he was positive Napoleon was alright.

“Thank you,”

Pastel’s eyes blinked open, fighting against his encroaching drowsiness when he heard Napoleon speak. The most he could manage was a small hum, hand still resting on the back of his companion’s head. Napoleon took in a quiet breath, curling even closer, pressing his cheek up against Pastel’s chest.

“Don’t thank me.”

Pastel murmured, closing his eyes once more. Speaking was about all he could manage right now, body heavy with the strain of keeping himself awake.

“Just sleep, Napoleon. Okay?”

Napoleon hummed quietly, the vibration tingling against the skin of Pastel’s chest. He leaned his head down, pressing a lingering kiss to the soul’s forehead.

“I love you.”

He whispered, reminding Napoleon the ever-important truth. No matter what happened to any of them, that was the one fact that wouldn’t change.

 

“Goodnight, Napoleon.”

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> gsksjsk thank u all fr reading!! <3


End file.
